


(Slightly) Breezy

by Kitkatkimble



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Stormwind is sadly literal, little cameo from Right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatkimble/pseuds/Kitkatkimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the wind sounds less like air and more like a screaming person, howling to the sky. (A missing father, crying out). So Anduin seeks out a familiar face for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Slightly) Breezy

Some places have silly names. Shallow names. Names that just sound cool, like Sholazar and Nagrand and Tirisfal. Names that don’t really have anything to do with the place, but evolved on their own, probably because someone said, “You know what’s a cool word? Feralas. That’s a really cool word. Let’s call this massive stretch of jungle that.”

Some places have meaningful names, ones that describe the place so that foreigners are left with no doubt as to what they’ll find. Blackrock Mountain, or the Jade Forest: those are pretty hard to mistake.

Stormwind is a mix of both. While there are great, heaving storms that batter the city and terrify foreigners, there are also days of intense peace that can last for an entire season. A typical Stormwind day depends entirely on the mood of the responder. But it is in winter that the city truly lives up to its name. The storms whip up flurries of ice and snow, and drive even the most brave-hearted back into their homes and to the warmth of a fire.

It isn’t the cold that Anduin is afraid of; he rather likes it. It’s the sound that the wind makes when it howls along the shutters and crashes into the walls, careening through the sky in screams and wails.

His pillow doesn’t block out the noise. He can still hear the cry of the gale outside, even as he burrows deeper into his mattress. His mind keeps replaying the same fears over and over; his father is gone, he’s lost, he’s dead, he’s dying, he’s in terrible pain. Anduin is alone in this huge keep, with nothing but the wails of the wind for company.

He’s never felt so small in all his ten years of life.

Another cry, and this time he nearly matches it with one of his own.

“We will do everything we can,” his Aunt Jaina said when she reported his father missing. “I promise you, Anduin, we will find him. Your father is tougher than you imagine. He’ll be okay.”

His father is a pillar of strength and wisdom, and to him, the idea that he could be anything more or less is just as scary as the thought of him dying.

Finally, Anduin can’t take it anymore, and he grabs his dressing gown and shrugs it over his shoulders, burying himself in its warmth. It’s a size too big for him.

He quietly pushes open his door, biting at his lip and peering out. There don’t seem to be any guards stationed where he can see, and he slips out, remembering all the tips and tricks about being stealthy that Valeera had taught him. Keep to the walls, love your corners, walk heel first.

The hallways are still, and he flinches every time the wind rattles a shutter. It doesn’t quieten, even as he heads further into the keep.

He passes a rough wooden door that he knows leads up to a roof guardhouse, and he hears laughter and chatter from inside. There’s a clatter, and he hears one of them bid goodbye. The door handle moves.

A guard walks straight past where he’s crouching, hidden by the open door. She shuts it and, thankfully, walks in the opposite direction. He exhales slowly, breath stuttering as another gust of wind follows her down the hall.

He reaches his final goal shortly after, the rough oaken door comforting in its austerity. There’s a plaque about a foot above his head. Anduin takes a breath, bites his lip, and knocks.

There comes a rustle from inside, as if someone is rolling over in bed, then the sound of feet hitting wood. A low hiss; the floor is stone, and unless covered by a rug, it tends to run chilly during winter. Footsteps pad closer to the door.

Anduin looks up with as much bravery as he can muster.

“Prince Anduin? Is something wrong?”

He opens his mouth to reply, and the wind decides to roll back in full force, letting out a shriek that has him hyperventilating. He’s not alone. Bolvar Fordragon flinches and offers him a sympathetic look.

“Aye, I understand. Come in.”

Anduin darts into the room, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m so, so sorry, Bolvar. I really didn’t mean to wake you up. I just…”

He misses his father _so damn much._

Bolvar gently ushers him into the lone chair, a well-worn armchair that sits at odds with the rest of the high quality furniture. “Sit. Jaina says you like tea, am I right?”

Anduin nods mutely.

“Brilliant. It’ll warm you up. I know paladins who refuse to go on missions without a supply.”

Bolvar moves away to a cupboard, and Anduin bites down a smile. Bolvar always seemed to know how to cheer Anduin up, even if it was more awkward bumbling than inherent wisdom. Don’t misunderstand him, Anduin thinks Bolvar is the greatest warrior alive after his father, and a noble lord and regent to boot. Only, he doesn’t seem to know much about children (not that Anduin’s really a child, not anymore) and seems to treat Anduin with a mixture of awkward fondness and adult respect. Anduin likes it.

“Here.”

He must have prepared the tea while Anduin was distracted. Anduin reaches out with steady hands – one small blessing, it seems – and wraps them around the teacup. It seeps out a comforting warmth.

Bolvar sits down next to him, on the floor. He’s wearing tartan pyjamas, and Anduin can’t help but grin weakly. “That’s better. I need you to help me make Very Important Decisions tomorrow.”

“Like whether Foreman Oslow can have more builders?”

“It’s a Very Important Decision. He’s been trying to build that bridge for years.” Bolvar frowns at Anduin, but it loses a bit of the edge, as he has to look up for once. “Personally, I don’t think Lake Everstill is that big, but I’m from Southshore. What do I know about big bodies of water?”

Anduin laughs, with a little surprise, and takes a sip of the peacebloom tea. He doesn’t feel so afraid anymore, even though he can hear the howling of the wind and the harsh batter of the rain overhead.

“Maybe he can try building a bridge from here to Theramore,” Anduin suggests.

“That,” says Bolvar with a sad smile, “would have saved us all a lot of heartache were it possible.”

After a while, Anduin begins to feel sleepy, and he blinks, struggling to keep his eyes open. Bolvar lets out a chuckle, before taking the teacup from his unresisting hands. “Come on, we had best get you back to bed. You’re no use to the kingdom if you’re dead on your feet.”

“I’m not much use to the kingdom now,” Anduin says softly. “How am I supposed to be like Father? I’m just a kid.”

Bolvar pats him on the shoulder and gently steers him out the door, leading the way through the deserted halls. “You don’t need to be like King Varian, you need to be yourself. That’s who the people need to see right now. So don’t worry about what Lord Remington or Lady Katrana tell you. You’ve got a clever head on those shoulders. Just make sure it stays there.”

“You’re strange, Uncle Bolvar.” It slips out before he can stop it, but Anduin can’t bring himself to care about anything but his weighty eyelids. He’ll just shut them for a second…

Bolvar catches Anduin easily when he abruptly droops, and picks him up. He never really knew how to act around children, but he’s known Anduin since he was toddling around at Bolvar’s knees, and he’s always been mature for his age. Falling asleep notwithstanding.

A guard gives him a shocked look when he rounds the corner to Anduin’s rooms, but she just shakes her head and gives him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Highlord, I hadn’t realised he had left.”

“It’s fine. He was just visiting me.”

She holds the door open for him as he edges through, and laughs as he tries to set Anduin down in a relatively comfortable position. “If I may, my lord, you may want to put the covers over him.”

“Oh, of course. Thank you…”

“Sergeant Elsie Droite.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I’d like you to keep watch here tonight. If it sounds like he’s upset, find me.”

She sketches out a salute and positions herself by the door. “Yes, sir.”

He glances upwards as a particularly ferocious gust of wind screams out from above. He’s beginning to understand why Anduin hadn’t wanted to stay alone. Storms are not kind to this area of Stormwind Keep.

Turning it over in his head, he thinks for a moment, then remembers the spare set of rooms just near his. They are much smaller than Anduin’s current ones, but they are closer to people who care, and away from the very edge of the keep where the buttresses funnel the wind into a screaming machine. He can raise the offer with Anduin in the morning.

Bolvar has never really been interested in having children. However, he reflects, it might simply be because he already has one.

 


End file.
